


All Abandon Hope

by low_battery_laptop



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy? Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 04:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21009740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/low_battery_laptop/pseuds/low_battery_laptop
Summary: The woman that led the Imperial army was lying on the ground, cowering in fear. Dimitri did not hesitate to run her through with Areadbhar. The blood, the death, the lance seemed to drink it all in. Then, it consumed the one who wielded it. Bands of darkness wrapped around Dimitri’s arm, engulfing it and transforming it into the same twisted form Byleth had seen before. He pushed himself to run faster; if he could tear Areadbhar from his hand, then maybe--Day Twelve of Fictober, with the prompt 'What if I don't see it?'





	All Abandon Hope

The night was quiet as Byleth wandered into the Knight’s Hall to retrieve a forgotten book. He instead found Felix, sitting before the fireplace with a bottle of wine. In the light of the crackling fire, Byleth saw the face of a man who was coming to terms with fear. He had seen it many times in the faces of the people he had killed, right before he ended their lives. At first Byleth presumed that Felix was only ignoring him as he walked into the hall, but when he shut the open book he had left on the table, Felix jumped, and cursed. 

“Forgive me,” Byleth said quietly. 

“The hell are you doing out this late?” Felix threw back at him. It was clear he didn’t want any company, but Byleth was walking toward him anyway. 

“I could ask the same of you.”

Felix shook the bottle in his hand. It was still rather full. “I’m trying to forget.” Byleth sat down on the rug beside him, and snatched the bottle from his hands. It was rare that he acted on impulse, but he suddenly decided that if Felix were to drink-- something the monastery didn’t allow it’s students to do-- that he shouldn’t drink alone. The wine was bitter, clearly nothing of quality. “You sure are something else, professor,” Felix scoffed. 

“So what is it you’re trying to forget?” Byleth handed the bottle back. 

Felix looked at him as if he was searching for hidden motivation. He wouldn’t find any. “Take a guess.” Byleth regarded his student for a moment as well. “Don’t think too hard about it.”

“Edelgard,” he surmised. It felt strange to say her name, and imagine an enemy. Only a few days had passed since they had discovered she and the Flame Emperor were one in the same. But then, that didn’t seem right. Felix was the kind of person to take this sort of thing in stride, to accept what was happening and move forward. “No,” Byleth corrected himself. Something else had happened down there in the dark, something far closer to Felix. “Dimitri.”

Felix did not answer, but he raised the bottle of wine before taking a drink, and Byleth knew he was right. He too was worried for the prince. Dimitri’s sudden shift from astute student and future leader to… a wild and vengeful man, had come as a shock to Byleth. He was fond of the prince, perhaps too much, and he was still figuring out how to feel about the sharp change in personality. 

“Is that why you call him the boar?” Byleth asked. 

“Bingo.” Felix passed the bottle, and Byleth held it in his hands, turning it over a few times. “It was only a matter of time before this happened. He’ll go feral, show everyone who he really is.” 

Byleth drank, and passed the bottle. “Is there no helping it?”

Felix shrugged. “If a dog goes rabid, you put it down.” 

The two of them fell into silence. A log in the fireplace broke apart and sent sparks of fire flying onto the stone. By the time they retired to their own rooms, the bottle of wine had been emptied.

* * *

Dawn was approaching, and the words Felix had spoken that night rang in his mind as he held out a hand to Dimitri. He refused to believe, even after five years, that the prince was too far gone. Felix was wrong. This couldn’t be who he was. 

It was hard to deny, though, that Dimitri was dangerous now, not only to himself but to the others that still chose to follow him. Byleth wouldn’t abandon him, but the road to the head of Edelgard, the thing Dimitri so desperately wanted, would not be an easy one. People would die. He only hoped by the time it was done, by the time the Empire fell, that Dimitri could claw his own way out of the dark he’d found himself in. 

His hope was fading, however, and once more he found himself drinking in the Knight’s Hall with Felix. This time, the battle was fresh, and both still had bandages soaking up blood wrapped around their wounds. It had only been a scuffle with brigands outside of the monastery, people looking to pillage a town close by, but Dimitri had gone into battle wielding Areadbhar. The lance, gifted to him by Felix’s father, was equally as dangerous as the prince, and it had reacted to his bloodlust. 

Byleth and Felix had both seen it just before the battle ended-- Dimitri’s lance arm slowly being consumed by demonic corruption, the red glow of his crest upon his back. Areadbhar falling from his hand stopped the transformation, reversed it before the rest of the Blue Lions could see it. But Byleth and Felix knew. Before they could reach the weapon, Dimitri picked it back up, clinging to it like a lifeline. Neither of them had the strength to tear Areadbhar from him, and he stalked the ruins of the church with it. It would not be leaving his hands any time soon. 

Clinging to the last bit of hope he had, Byleth drank, and now understood why Felix had wanted to forget that night. He too wanted to forget now, forget that what he had seen wasn’t going to be the end of it. Dimitri was going to become a monster if no one stopped him. 

“What do we do?” Byleth asked unprompted. 

The typical scowl on Felix’s face was replaced with a far more grave expression. “You get over your infatuation with him, and the moment you think he’s about to turn into the monster he is, you end it.”

The words were like an arrow in Byleth’s chest. “Was it that obvious?” he asked. 

“Of course it is,” Felix laughed. “You looked at him like he was your whole world five years ago. You still do. It’s pathetic.”

Byleth stole the wine back and took a long drink. Neither of them were as drunk as they wanted to be for a conversation like this. It would take far too much alcohol for them to reach that point. 

“What if I don’t see it?” he asked. “If I’m too late, and he becomes… something else.”

“You kill him either way,” Felix said. “He’s already rabid. We just got a glimpse of him foaming at the mouth.”

Byleth felt his eyes water, and couldn’t stop the quiet flow of tears down his face. He had expected Felix to leave, or belittle him for crying over the inevitable future. Instead, he placed a hand upon Byleth shoulder. It was comfort enough; it was Felix telling him he wouldn’t be alone when the time came. He clung to the silent consolation that Felix offered for the rest of the night. One of the threads of hope within him snapped. 

* * *

Dimitri carried Areadbhar into battle against the Empire at Myrddin, and Byleth followed with the Sword of the Creator. Watching the prince while fighting off the enemy was a difficult task. Felix aided him when he could, striking down Imperial soldiers from afar with magic. Sylvain kept close to them as well, healing both Felix and Byleth when they were injured, to keep them going. 

There was a woman atop a wyvern shouting orders to the soldiers below. She was who Dimitri hunted, the one he rushed towards. A thought came to Byleth’s mind: if he could get to her first, bring her down and kill her himself, perhaps Dimitri’s bloodlust would be calmed. He had been watching the prince closely, and he had yet to show signs of turning. Byleth clung to hope once again as he rushed across the bridge. 

As Byleth ran, the tail of the demonic beast that both Felix and Sylvain fought to distract slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground. The air rushed from his lungs, and he struggled to breathe. Faintly, he heard shouting, and recognized it as Felix’s voice. Hands were suddenly on his shoulders, and the world blurred around him as he was pulled to his feet. Byleth was certain he could feel blood running down the back of his head. From the hands on his shoulders, he could feel the flow of white magic. His vision returned to him, just as he saw a wyvern fall from the sky. 

Byleth scrambled away from Sylvain’s grip, and ran, cutting down Imperial soldiers as he went. The fear that had struck him granted him the strength to run faster than he ever had before, but he was still too late. The woman that led the Imperial army was lying on the ground, cowering in fear. Dimitri did not hesitate to run her through with Areadbhar. The blood, the death, the lance seemed to drink it all in. Then, it consumed the one who wielded it. 

Bands of darkness wrapped around Dimitri’s arm, engulfing it and transforming it into the same twisted form Byleth had seen before. He pushed himself to run faster; if he could tear Areadbhar from his hand, then maybe--

The black engulfed the weapon it spread from as well, and the last thread of hope snapped. Byleth came to a halt before Dimitri, as the prince allowed the darkness to swallow him up. 

The Sword of the Creator glowed, and Byleth walked towards Dimitri, until he was close enough. The soldiers around them were no longer a threat; they all fled at the sight of the prince’s transformation. He looked like a boar, eyes glowing red, bone piercing through the black in the shape of tusks. Yet Dimitri still stood on two legs, hunched over. In the center of his chest was his crest stone, pulsing like a heart.

Byleth raised the Sword of the Creator, and swung. The blade extended out and wrapped itself around Dimitri’s arm. He tried to pull down, to bring Dimitri to the ground, but the beast pulled its arm up, forcing Byleth to draw back the blade. Still, he had wounded him. Dark blood poured from Dimitri’s wrist. But the damage done only served to enrage him even further. 

The bleeding hand-- now clawed, fit for a beast-- crashed down beside Byleth, nearly crushing him. If he didn’t keep moving, he would die. He ran right, away from the crumbling stone, but Dimitri was far faster now. His hand swept across the bridge, catching Byleth in its path, and knocking him down. This time, Sylvain was no where to be found. Byleth rolled as far as he could to avoid being crushed, then struggled to stand. 

Once again, the Sword of the Creator extended outward, but this time, Byleth wrapped it around the throat of the beast. Dimitri reeled backward at the pain, cried out in anger. Byleth gripped the sword, and let himself be pulled into the air. Even though he braced his legs, the impact he felt as he was thrown against Dimitri’s chest hurt, badly. 

The black that had swallowed up the prince began to writhe once more. Unlike the rest of the demonic beasts, it seemed the evil in Areadbhar was not content with swallowing up Dimitri alone. It wanted Byleth too. He struggled against the magic, hand slipping from the Sword of the Creator. Dimitri raked his claws across his own chest, cutting deep into Byleth as well. Pain forced him to loose his grip, and the sword fell from his hand. 

The black was up to his knees, and he could feel it spreading from the gashes in his back as well. Dimitri dropped down on all fours, and roared. Blood rushed to Byleth’s head, dizzying him. 

“Maybe this too is fate,” he whispered to himself. 

Byleth resigned himself to death, but he still had a duty to his students. The Sword of the Creator may have fallen, but he still had a weapon. Before it too could be swallowed up by darkness, he drew the dagger at his hip, and struggled to move closer to the crest stone at the center of Dimitri’s chest. The more he moved, the more the darkness clung to him. 

Faintly, he heard the cries of Felix, Sylvain, mixed in with others of the Blue Lions. Something, maybe an arrow or a bolt of magic, struck Dimitri and he faltered. The dagger nearly slipped from Byleth’s grasp, but the momentum gave him the final push he needed. With a final war cry, Byleth drove the blade into the center of the crest stone. It cracked first, then he twisted the blade. Above him, Dimitri screamed. The stone shattered. 

Even then, the darkness still clung to him, and festered around Byleth until only his head, and the arm that held the dagger, were free. Someone, somewhere, cried out in warning, and he heard the word  _ rampage _ . Several more blows struck Dimitri, sending him running. Byleth only felt a moment of weightlessness, then he was plunged into ice cold water. It was the darkness finally swallowing him whole that kept the water from his lungs, but it didn’t matter. Byleth was simply drowning in another way. 

* * *

Water pushed and pulled at his legs. That was the first sensation he felt, and the sharp pain of something cutting into his back followed. He wanted nothing more than to drift away once more, to feel nothing. His eyes opened anyway. Before him was a mess of blue cloth, and a soaked pelt, lying atop a bed of river rocks. Under it all, was a soaked man. Dimitri.  _ Dimitri. _

Byleth pulled himself forward along the river rocks, coughing as he moved. Every part of his body felt bruised and beaten, and his back burned as if it was on fire. When he reached Dimitri, he fell onto the stones once more, breath coming in and out in rapid gasps. He reached out a hand and curled his fingers into the soaked fur on his back. 

Dimitri still drew breath, however slowly. Had Byleth the strength, he would have cried tears of joy. All he could do in that moment, though, was hang on. Twilight came, the sky changing from orange to purple, then to the dark blue of night. In the dark, Dimitri shuddered. Byleth pulled his hand back, and pushed himself up. 

He could hardly see Dimitri’s face, but Byleth was certain that when he rolled onto his back, he was looking up at him. 

“Professor…” 

His voice was hoarse, but there was no malice behind it, no anger. Byleth could not find the words to answer him, so instead, he threw himself onto Dimitri, trying his best to wrap his arms around him. It was hard to do so; he was weak, and Dimitri was heavy, soaked with river water. One of Dimitri’s hands came to rest upon his own. The touch broke the dam that held back Byleth’s emotions. As he had the day his father died, and as he had the night he spent with Felix, silent tears fell from his eyes. 

Byleth held Dimitri’s hand in his own. In the distance, he could hear voices calling his name. 

He wasn’t ready to answer them quite yet.

**Author's Note:**

> You may be asking yourself, LowBatteryLaptop, why doesn't Byleth simply steal the relic from Dimitri, or use a divine pulse to stop all that from happening? Because I love the drama of it all, that's why. 
> 
> Follow me on twitter @lowbatlaptop


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